Borrowed Time
by Penelope Grace
Summary: This is trash. Tomione Lemon


**Author's Note: This is trash. What am I doing? I can't believe I'm doing this. I need to drink a lot of water. So much water. Water cause I am so thirsty. But what is my problem? I have no problem. Well, I got to stop thinking this smutty shit. Anyway, there isn't really a plot. But if you want a plot I'll write a fucking plot. Wait, not a plot, really. I guess it's called a synopsis. Anyway, here's some promoting to my other fic that is called Slytherin's Locket. If you want to know how to find that fic, then I'll tell you it much later. **

**I wrote this in China. Which has so many censorship laws. Oh, and it blocks everything about sex and other stuff. Prudes. Ironic that I am facing it here. Oh, well. We'll see how it'll go. Do I care? Nah, I'm married to my new wife, which is ao3. She's far more faithful than I am. Her name is Archive of Our Own. It's a fanfic site that hosts everything your heart could ever dream of. I'm currently writing more for YOI as if July 2, 2019. YOI is Yuri on Ice. I'm shipping Victuuri! It's Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki. They are absolute baes. I'm also on the YOI discord.**

**Now here's the story. **

When Harry disappeared seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, right down to the very day, Hermione was one of the first to look for them. Unlike Ron or Ginny or the rest of the world, she used potions mixed with runes to look for him. She tracked him down to a little town in the countryside of Great Britain. It had a name once, but everyone has forgotten it by now. She followed the traces of his magical signature to what appeared to be a rundown manor.

Upon opening the unlocked front door, she knew she was dead wrong. It wasn't rundown at all. It was kept in good conditions, the rugs pressed and clean, the curtains hanging straight with no moth-bitten holes. Sunlight easily shone through the clear, uncracked, unbroken windows. Fancy chairs were placed in strategic locations around a fireplace to make the room cozy.

She turned quickly and saw a flash of blue light and then knew nothing at all.

"Ugh," she croaked. She slowly blinked her eyes open, feeling as if she had slept for a million years with her mouth open. Sitting up, she glanced around the room with a spectacular window of the gardens below. She noted she was placed upon a four-poster bed. She eyed the closed door and nearly got up when she saw the man sitting partially hidden behind the enormous vase of flowers.

"Harry," she breathed. "You're safe!"

He nervously pushed up his glasses. "Sorry, Hermione. I hit you. Didn't realize it was you." He gave her a golden cup. "This is water. The curse I used on you, Hermione. It's not pleasant. You'll need this."

She drank the entire cup, her tongue eagerly searching for every droplet of water she could find. It's not enough, but she felt much better than before. She placed the cup on the nightstand and turned back to Harry.

His hair was placed together neatly as always, and his light green eyes stared right at her. His wand of a phoenix tail feather twitched in his left hand. "Didn't expect anyone to find me."

"Of course, someone will find you. Everyone's looking for you. They thought you have been taken by some rogue Death Eaters or buried deep in a forest." She admonished, "You disappeared without saying a word or leaving a note!"

"I had to get away." He stood up, his feet moving him next to the window. He pensively stared out. "Every year since the Battle is always the same. I don't know how you and Ron or anyone else do it. People come up to me, congratulate me for ending the Dark Lord, But how can I be happy about the day where so many witches and wizards needlessly died? We won, sure, Hermione. But all I see are the memories and reminders that haunt me." He stepped next to Hermione, his hand reaching out and gently pulling down the collar of her shirt. His fingers brush by her scar. "Like this curse."

She shivered. It was a wayward Slicing Hex with some modifications that made the scar permanent. It was always slightly dull with pain, a cursed reminder for Hermione for what happened exactly seven years ago. But under Harry's touch, the pain was smoothed away into something surprisingly warm. Her stomach curled in delight, but she looked away from Harry. She moved away.

It was wrong. . . Their friendship was something more than this.

"Every time," he sighed. "Every try I make always ends up with you moving away. I wonder when you'll realize that you're the only one I ever want. Yet you keep pushing me away."

She blinked, surprised he was coming forth so straightforwardly. "You know our friendship matters more than some romance that might go well or might not. You have seen the way Neville's relationship with Ginny turned out. They barely talk anymore. We fell into bed many times before, and we always have to figure out where our normal is."

"Admit it, Hermione. You're scared of what might happen." His face was only inches away from hers. She realized it only took one little move to meet his lips.

"I'm not afraid of taking that leap." She remembered all of the mistletoe kisses. All of the New Year parties where he brushed by her. All of the moments when he touched her unnecessarily longer than social norm.

"You're scared after what happened with Viktor. Always pushing away."

She shivered. She remembered that night. The night he came to her with glassy eyes and firewhiskey on his lips and didn't seem to _stop grasping at her skirts— _But suddenly, Harry was there. And he was holding her so tight and kissing her forehead, swearing that no harm would ever come to her. He made love to her the first time that night.

"It won't happen to you, Hermione." A whisper. "I promise you'll want it."

**[redacted lemon bit]**

**[redacted smut bit]**

**[redacted dead dove bit]**

**[redacted a lot of dead dove bits]**

**[redacted Tomione]**

**[redacted rip harry]**

**[redacted censored etc]**

**[redacted, by the way, means : ****verb past tense: redacted; past participle: redacted edit (text) for publication. "a confidential memo which has been redacted from 25 pages to just one paragraph" censor or obscure (part of a text) for legal or security purposes.****]**

**[redacted as if it is for security purposes]**

**[redacted for legal? ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha omg ha ha ha ha]**

**[redacted comes from **mid 19th century: back-formation from redaction.]

**[redacted like it sounds about right]**

**[redacted for not being ao3]**

**[redacted in all]**

**[redacted from 4.8k words to whatever I can make out of it now; trust me I'm going to keep my word count if possible]**

**[redacted] **

**For fanficnet,**

**No, let me start with this **

**Dear fanficnet users! **

NO WORRIES! THE FIC IS ACTUALLY COMPLETE. It just ends here for them cause this place is so bad. And I can't believe ads funnel money into this place. I would rather donate thousands into ao3 than be here, lol. So everyone should just go to ao3. Ao3 is the best.

Here comes more shameless ao3 promoting:

(You should know. . . I am, in no way shape or form, connected to ao3. I am a user and an avid fan of that site.)

AO3 HAS These Important Things (in no particular order):

1\. Better search.

2\. Better filter system.

3\. We can actually post on there.

4\. It's not a site that's afraid of being sued by authors, lol lol lol lol.

5\. It's just better overall.

6\. You'll need an account. You'll never regret it. And you'll keep notes on your bookmarks instead of putting them some place else like tumblr.

7\. You could easily download my fic from there. I wouldn't care.

8\. You can link series!

9\. So what the hell are you waiting for? I have no idea what.

Oh, wait. Sorry. About Slytherin's Locket. I'll talk about that later.

I HAVE MOVED TO AO3. I ONLY UPDATE FICS THAT I HAVE POSTED ON HERE ORIGINALLY, BUT I GUESS I'LL JUST QUIETLY LEAVE. CAUSE IT SUCKS. Actually, no, I don't think I'll quietly leave. I'll be petty. Anyway, here's some updates:

_NOTE: This is still a lemon fic. L. E. M. O. N. However, a concerned reviewer aka a fake mod has brought to my attention another reason why fanficnet sucks and why I shouldn't bother posting anything on here but on ao3. By the way, that fake mod "catspats31" has no life and somehow managed to go through 3 thousand and more fanfics. She/he pulled out a ruler and measured shitload of fanfics in a community called "Reportable Lemons." How pitiful must someone must be to go through craploads of fanfics just to find offenses. And it's not like people care about that anymore. It's not 2006. It's fucking 2019 where the rules against fandom has lessened quite a bit. _

So if you want to finish it then google this: "solace borrowed time ao3". It should be the first result. 

It should show up. I wish to link it on here, but fanficnet is too afraid of links.

If anyone wishes to find it via url and knows the format for ao3 links, the work number is this: 15754293

Slytherin's Locket is a prequel of Borrowed Time. If you want to read that one, then you should google "slytherin's locket ao3 solace" It should be the first result. 

The work number in the url is this: 15882480

So in the interest of being annoying, I'm going to post a few sneak peeks of things I've been writing on ao3.

Here's "A Thousand Battles, A Thousand Victories" for YOI, which is a victuuri fic. (Search "verity a thousand battles a thousand victories ao3" to find this fic.) URL number: 18489766

This is the preview of the second chapter:

_May 2019_

"Sara," says Yuuri. "What do you have for me?"

Sara Crispino, the FBI agent from the BAU, speaks through the phone. "We're almost wrapped up with the investigation with our pipe bomber, but I'm happy to confirm that the sniper's DNA we caught during Congressman Nikiforov's attempted assassination matches the DNA present on the pipe bomb we intercepted. Unfortunately, he's dead as you have already heard all over the news, but I'm glad this is over. I'm very confident that the major threat against the Congressman and all other representatives in our government is no longer a threat."

"Thanks, Sara. How are you doing?"

"Sad about the case. I would have loved to poke his brain."

"Yeah," Yuuri simply replies. Honestly, he doesn't care as long as the threat has been eliminated. Even if it was through suicide and not an arrest.

But Sara, who graduated top of her class in the omega-dominated field of psychology as the only alpha and got her Ph.D. from the University of Chicago and cranked out notable papers in academic journals throughout the years, simply love walking through strange, disturbing minds. She's notorious for three things in the Bureau: 1) her infamous but possibly unrequited crush on Janice from Cyber Division, 2) her sizable collection of antique guns with their respective ammunition and a Vietnam War deactivated landmine, 3) her magnum opus, which is a fundamental psychology paper on sibling codependency that has been cited by over a dozen academic papers around the world. Technically, the third item also includes her formerly codependent brother, who is reputed to be "very sexy" and "hot-tempered" and "fiercely protective" despite the fact that few have ever seen him.

All three deter new FBI entrants from flirting with her.

"You doing okay, Yuuri?"

"I'm doing fine."

"You don't sound okay." A pause. "I might not be from Human Resources, but if you're overworking yourself, it's okay to admit you need a break."

"It's not that, Sara. I'll figure it out."

"Okay, Yuuri." She doesn't sound too convinced.

* * *

"Yuuri," Victor purrs, showing up at the security offices. The other USCP officers avert their eyes and pretend to be paying not a single bit of attention. From what Yuuri has heard, not a single Congressman or Senator came down here with their actual physical bodies unless they had a severe security issue. Typically, they sent their assistants or aides.

"What?" He looks up from his paperwork.

Victor frowns. A delicate pale finger reaches out to the corner of Yuuri's mouth and wipes away a bit of white cream left at the corner. He brings it to his face, his pink tongue slipping out to lick away the cream from his fingertip. "Hmm, caramel macchiato from that coffee shop down the street? The Italian one?" he asks, as if he hasn't just stirred the butterflies in Yuuri's stomach and warmed Yuuri's cheeks.

"Uh, yeah," Yuuri quickly replies, stammering over his words. In a sudden, all the the blood drains from his head and pool someplace inappropriate.

"Delicious." A pause as Victor smiles sweetly at him. "I need some help with lifting."

Yuuri thinks about it and then looks down at the countless number of reports he still has to go through. He weighs his options and as casually as possible despite the fierce pounding of his heart, answers, "Alright."

* * *

"Where are we going?" he asks.

"Picking up something from the janitor closet. I hope they didn't move it." Victor looks up and down the hallway before pulling out some keys. "I hope Yuri actually did put it here. Sometimes, he jokes he broke it all and I can't tell if he's serious or not."

The door opens. Victor flicks the light on.

"Let's see. . . Where did he put it?"

"What are we looking for?"

"A-ha! He did put it here!"

* * *

Yuuri just knows this screams of bad idea, but it is not like Victor would actually listen to him. Yuuri already protested once or twice. Three dusty boxes about the size of Makkachin surround the two men. A few feet away at the corner are actual yellow signs saying "wet floor" and "restroom closed for cleaning."

It's not going to deter anyone who's actually reading.

The hallway they're in possesses lovely carpets. A gold plaque on the door proclaims the office of a certain US Senator from California.

"Why are we in front of Senator Altin's office?"

"Yuuri, how closely do you follow the bills miraculously and currently going through Senate?"

"Umm. . ." Yuuri hasn't seen anything from the news. Then again, journalists and reporters focus far more on the American President than the many bills striving through Congress. Except for the gun control bill running its way through Democrats-majority House of Representatives, which seems to have more popularity than most bills.

"Hmm, I don't even know which party you're in."

"Uhh. . . I think it's best for me not to say."

Victor nods. "Fair enough. So we managed to get through the plastic regulation bill through the House. It's specifically to target a plastic called polyethylene terephthalate. It's dangerous for everybody when it leaks out a metalloid after being left in the heat or on the shelf for too long. We're unfortunately not able to get a bill that says no production of this plastic, but hopefully, the tax on this plastic will lower the production and convince businesses to look for alternatives."

Yuuri pauses at the things within the box. "But you need to have glass cups in front of Senator Altin's office to get a message across?"

"Not just glass cups. Otabek's getting the ice. Help me put all of these in front of his door."

Yuuri's suddenly reminded of setting up dominos while taking the glasses out of their boxes. He asks, "Is there a point to made here?"

"Well, certain sources say Senator Altin isn't standing very strong on this issue. I want him to vote for the passing of this bill. A way to do that is to use climate change." Victor gives him a strange, demure side look. "Also, there's nothing like iceplay to make someone excited."

Yuuri chokes. "What?"

* * *

If Yuuri volunteers occasionally for menial coffee runs as a favor to Yuri Plisetsky and picks up caramel macchiato from that little Italian coffee shop down the street, that's between Yuri and him.

* * *

"Vitya, this thing about Senator Altin's office screams of your meddling," says Yakov Feltsman, shaking his head over a fancy bowl of clam chowder and a large glass of red wine from France vineyards. According to Yuri Plisetsky, Yuuri heard that as soon as his plane from Honolulu landed in D.C., Yakov himself made the soonest appointment with Victor. Yuri said that he'll send an invoice of his appointment with an otolaryngologist to Yakov. He also made a loud complaint about rising healthcare bills.

"What thing?" airly asks Victor.

"Don't play games with me. If they knew that you swayed the vote, your party is going to tear you apart."

Yuuri, standing a few feet away from the window and watching the restaurant patrons come and go, listens with half an ear. He turns away briefly, narrowing his eyes at a somewhat old man in his sixties getting cozy with a pretty young woman. Looks like a sugar baby.

"Yakov, do you remember what percent of Americans know their representatives? Their Congressman?"

"Thirty-seven."

"In Alaska, it's seventy-nine." A pause. "I'm not worried."

"Vitya," Yakov warns, his voice low.

"I survived reelection for my third term. A male omega, who is openly known and a member of a party infamous for its '08 treatment of omega candidates, got reelected into office."

"You were a male incumbent."

"Both parties tried to take me down. Right now, I'm far stronger than I was in my second term. A little thing about plastic regulation isn't going to bring me down."

"They're rebranding it as climate change hoax law."

"It's plastic reduction. Altin needs to take charge on this."

* * *

As Yuuri's eyes snags themselves onto a pale creamy shoulder exposed by a black silk robe, Yuuri catches himself for staring far longer than socially acceptable. Victor, casually lounging on the couch and seemingly unaware of Yuuri's complete attention, continues to scroll through Twitter.

Yuuri darts away, his cheeks flushed.

**Okay! End preview for A Thousand Battles, A Thousand Victories. I know some of you guys probably don't like "boy loves boy" fics. But for those who don't mind, I have a bit smutty section coming up in there and it's all in ao3 if you want to read it. It's also a alpha beta omega dynamics fic. Wink wink. **

**I also have a preview for the next few parts of Revolutionary from District 12. I know that it's posted on here and updating here, but it's best if you go over to ao3 to see the series summary. It's far better than here. This is a tomione set in Hunger Games. **

**URL number: ****14850818**

**Search "revolutionary from district 12 penelope grace ao3" to find it. **

**Preview now: **

IV.

Mr. Granger and Mrs. Granger chose not to live with Hermione in the Victor's House when she asked whether or not they wanted to move in with her. They pointed out that it was over ten miles from the district's center, far from where her father worked. They would rather not depend on her for transportation, they said. She lived by herself in a lavish, expensive house. It only seemed to make the house much bigger and lonelier than it was.

Hermione still helped out with Mr. Granger's dentist practice.

She didn't flinch when she saw some of the patients shy away from her wand. They asked for painkilling charms but not for surgical spells.

And she especially didn't look away when her mother announced with glee that she was pregnant, despite being thirty-eight years old. She was nearing the ultimate end of her cycles yet somehow was able to be with child. Hermione's father stood behind his wife, his hand comforting on her shoulder and a small, sad smile on his face. Hermione knew what was the cause of that smile.

The Hunger Games. The sick, twisted, perverted games they made 24 children play every year. Thinking of it sent a fiery rage in the pits of Hermione's stomach. Her future sister or brother might be in that game. Flashes of the footage replaying to Gabrielle's death roll across Hermione's mind. A little viewing party with Rita Skeeter, showing the best moments of the game. Hermione's fingers curled around her new wand.

It had to end. One way or another.

Even if Hermione has to die for it.

V.

Barty Crouch Senior always thought of himself as a good career man. His son, Barty Crouch Junior, was a Peacekeeper working as a bodyguard for the Madam President herself, and he heard from his son perhaps once a month despite living a few miles away. His wife heard from Barty more, he suspected.

Gamemaker Bagman, a junior gamemaker who joined about two Hunger Games ago, heard the rumors first. He plopped his bagsack over Barty's desk and whispered, "Did you hear?"

"No." Barty had little time for gossip unless it involved himself. He had no intentions of gossiping about his coworkers, no matter what he thought of them.

"Fudge is getting sacked." Bagman leaned back with a conspiratory smile. "Getting shipped back to District 3 to work Peacekeeping again."

This, Barty paused at however. Because after Fudge, the only Gamemakers with the most seniority and experience is Barty, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Rufus Scrimgeour. Barty quietly thought it would be Shacklebolt most likely to be promoted Head, because Shacklebolt spent an awful amount of time working closely with the Presidential Administration. He didn't know much about Scrimgeour, though.

"It's only a rumor," said Barty.

"We'll see."

Three hours later, after Barty's lunch break, he sees a pliant unassuming elf owl sitting on top of his paperwork. It held a perfumed pink envelope in its beak.

A promotion was a good thing, right?

Yet, dread crawled up Barty's spine.

VI.

The Victor Tour started at District 1. Hermione barely recalled a thing as she was greeted by fake smiles and fake joy all around. After all, who would celebrate her victory here? The boy from District 1 had two parents showing up to the ceremony while the girl had none. Both were killed by Hermione's hand. The Malfoys stood silently at the lower platform on Hermione's left while the right platform remained empty.

The girl came from an orphanage and died as an orphan.

The father of Draco Malfoy possessed cold, furious blue eyes as his collected gaze briefly met Hermione. It looked exactly like Draco.

She suppressed a shiver.

VI.

She arrived at District 2 in a blur. A few silent Peacekeepers took her from the train and led her off to a dusty alley where there was a sleek black town car with an open door waiting for her. A well-dressed man with silver eyebrows gestured, "Miss Granger, if you would please."

Hermione blinked, and her surroundings suddenly came into focus. She noticed that her entourage of Oliver Wood, her stylists, and her designer were gone. Unable to stop herself, she moved into the car and let herself be driven to wherever her destination may be.

"My name is Frank," said the driver.

"Hello, Frank," Hermione quietly greeted.

It seemed to be just a moment, though Hermione knew the drive was much longer than it seemed. The scenery was blurry, as if there was a fog around the car. Or perhaps, Hermione's eyes weren't as sharp as they used to be. She didn't know, and a growing part of her didn't care anymore.

The car slowed to a stop. Then the door opened, and Hermione blinked once again. The light was dim, and it looked to be in the late afternoon. The sun was behind a thick layer of clouds yet there was not a hint of rain. She got out of the car and noticed the dark gate first. Fleshy dark green vines crawled over brick walls and black bars.

Then she turned again and noticed an imposing dark manor absorbing the terrain. Frank walked up the smooth tiled steps between two large statues of gargoyles. A little way off the path, a fountain spurted water from the mouth of a granite King Cobra. It all seemed especially extravagant in a cold, impersonal, superior way to Hermione, who had already seen the ways of the Capitol. But this thing, this attitude felt much more befitting of royalty. The way President Umbridge played it while attempting to seem like one of the people.

The grand doors of a dark-colored wood parted for them. Frank stopped at the doorway and gestured for Hermione to keep walking.

She continued into the darkness, her feet carrying her to an uncertain destination.

Candles lit up ahead of her. Shadows danced across the walls, and Hermione approached a study room. Or at least, that what she thought it was. It was grand, like the rest of the manor she had seen so far. Shelves of books were against the wall. A spacious window offered a near view of a calm deep blue lake. A wood ladder led its way to the second floor, also brimmed with dusty books.

A dark haired woman sat behind the large desk, a bright red quill moving across the parchment. She would had looked plain, if it weren't for the subtle expensive emerald robes she wore. The very way her back was straight and her posture suggested of a good upbringing. She never wanted food or anything in her life, Hermione thought.

But she didn't know why she was here and what the women wanted with her.

The woman stopped writing. She slowly glanced up and released the quill. Slowly rising from her chair, she approached Hermione and quietly spoke, "Welcome to Riddle Manor."

* * *

**End preview.**

**See you on ao3. :) -Verity (PenelopeGrace)**


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